Viva Las Boobies

I was warned about Las Vegas- I didnt believe it. There were slot machines in front of me as I left the plane- I mean IMMEDIATELY as I left- like, before the Starbuck's or the Chili's. And they were everywhere. Next thing I saw was a poster that read "Shoot a REAL Machine Gun" with a big blonde in a tank top (big hair, big gun...big everything... except her clothes which were exceptionally tiny)holding an AK-47 and smiling for all she was worth. I think it would be a toss-up whether a fella would want to work the gun or the gal- it's Vegas- my guess is it'd be an all or nothing gamble.

Aside from extreme overstimulation from just...too many of EVERYTHING blinking ringing and clanging I came to a realization. I mean with everything going on somehow one particular item (well, two actually...) snapped into extreme clarity and, well, not to be crude- it stood out. All the statues here have HUGE boobs. No kidding. I expected it on showgirls but everywhere I looked- Greek, Egyptian, Italian- I mean Venus rising from the sea looked like Dolly Parton in a wig- and she was SMIRKING. So- I plan to keep looking as I have not yet found my way out of Caesars Palace but here is the evidence thus far. The proof is in the statuary. As ever- tits rule.












:) X

And now a word about a dinosaur...

Barrett Jackson... I felt like I had landed on Planet GUY. So you will get this in segments- as I did. The store manager hauled me directly from the entrance to Barrett Jackson to see...the BIG attraction...the world's largest robot...who thinks a Mini Cooper is an hors d'oeuvre!


Robosaurus. I felt like the prettiest girl at the monster truck rally that day- let me tell you...


It stood

It picked up a poor defenseless Saturn (it was a car show, they announced the make of the "victim")

It belched a lot of fire (and a little confetti)

And then chomped it!


OK, OK. I kinda liked it. Sue me.

:)X

Remember, "All You Can Eat" is a Suggestion, NOT a Challenge!

Taking a break, mentally from Houston, which so far is gray, cloudy and at 50 degrees, colder than I packed for... and filled with the most agressive drivers I have seen since Mad Max the Road Warrior. (My mantra- "there's no place like home, there's NO place like HOME".) I give you my latest and scariest NYC discovery.

Todai Restaurant www.todainyc.com Located at
6 E. 32nd St. I had buzzed by a few times on my way to an appointment and been amused by the Happy Squid waving from the lobby.

The restaurants on 32nd Street are mostly Korean and fairly daunting as ... well, nobody in there looks a bit like me. Frankly I worry that without my occidental posse I might not be welcomed- or at the very least commit some grievous error in etiquette for which the waiter will need to kill me or himself.

But who says "No" to a happy squid? Or an all you can eat buffet of Asian delicacies including sushi, snow crab legs, all sorts of grilled meats and really scary skewered shrimp with their heads on... (I had VLH decapitate- I tried but it kept LOOKING at me)This and much more for the prime time price of $27.95 (I think it's about $3-$5 cheaper if you go on a weeknight) I worried that If this place catches on I may not be able to get in but with seating for 700 and a buffet LITERALLY a city block long- I could tell a few of you...



A little salad



A lotta sushi



THEIR dessert bar



VLH's dessert plate (I helped...)

Bon Appetit!

Toto check the map- I don't think we're in Kansas, anymore

Our booth at Barrett Jackson is located adjacent to and unfortunately within smelling distance of the Famous Dave's BBQ stand http://www.famousdaves.com/
If anyone wants to find me I will be lunching there today.

It looks a bit like Detroit. My cerebellum registers cactus, sagebrush, roadrunners and retirees and its 61 degrees in January. And yet what hangs over my head fluttering like flags over a fiefdom are the banners of the kings- GM, Ford, Bentley. And they all share an anthem- VRoooooooom VRooooooooom.

It's not Kansas. It's not the Motor City. It's Desert World in Scottsdale, AZ. and the Barrett Jackson's world famous auto auction http://www.barrett-jackson.com/. Aside from the fact that ALL I care about in a car is a. that it goes and b.that I like the color (I picked up the car on Sunday and someone asked me what model I got and I said "Red".) What the HECK am I doing here- to me a Hemi is half a planet. I looked at the booth across from my company's and asked the sales person if it came in any colors besides...metal. No idea what I would use it for but gray is not my color.

But- work beckoned me here to Scottsdale so I came here to make money, for work and to make trouble- for fun and enjoyment. It's actually a hoot as I have not spent a great deal of time with the sales staff below the manager level I was now thrown in with the guys who essentially make the money that pays my salary. And they think of me as a "higher-up" One guy actually introduced me that way- "This is Melanie Nerenberg, my higher up" Made me feel like I was ON a lift- or at least 5'6" tall. Yep- to THESE guys I am "corporate" A word which means- QUICK act like you never do ANYTHING but work. I was deferred to. I was escorted. I was driven around AND practically genuflected to. It was UNBEARABLE. So I did what any self respecting corporate brat would do. I blew my cover.

The evening's gala was invitation only and silly me- I left my invitation to the $400 a head invite in my other LIFE. But smart me- being corporate- having NOT worn the long sleeved golf shirt with the company logo embroidered on it and because I look AWFUL in khakis (kind of like a bowl of butterscotch pudding with pleats) I had on a suit. And according to one of the sales staff- at least in his opinion I looked like the folks going into the gala. I made a mark on my hand with a magic marker, picked up a shawl and threw it over my suited shoulders and grabbed a plastic cup someone had left on the counter and walked up to security. It had been suggested I affect I southern accent but frankly, I couldn't hold it- I went for New Jersey with money but no class. "Excuse me Hon" I tapped a beefy girl from Security on the shoulder. "You seen my husband?" She looked at me- after all there were 4998 other folks inside besides me and my fictional husband. "No M'am" she said "Can I help you?" I waved the hand with the drink and the marker mark quickly past her- gesticulating a bit and sloshing my drink dangerously close to her nice red windbreaker for effect. "He was supposed-ta wait right HERE" "Oh" she said- "I didn't see him". "He has my PURSE" (slosh) "How'm I supposed to get IN?" (shoshity slosh)I held the drink closer and closer as I moved. I was getting dangerously close to HER and she REALLY didn't want to get hit with whatever was melting in my cup. "Why don't you go find him?" she said and lifted the velvet rope to give me entrance.

I ran past the Elvis impersonator (sheesh) Cleavage with more depth and breadth than the Grand Canyon and Mickey Dolenz doing a Monkee's set in front of the Monkee mobile and headed straight for the Barbecue station. "Pile it on" I said as I stood there- "He's on Atkins". I appeared back at the booth with food for my new found and very grateful buddies. "How did you do it?" they asked. My boss has a saying- "only the paranoid survive" I did not want to let them know I had broken the rules but was really happy INSIDE myself to know that I had. "I just asked someone nicely." I said. "Eat up guys" And they did.

More- with pics- later. :)X

Twelve Years of Rent

The waves of fortune keep washing cool stuff up on the shores of my life. The other night- 4 tickets to RENT. Oddly enough, even being the culture hag that I am, and having seen the movie more than a few times- (I own the DVD), I had never seen it in the theater. I knew the story behind the story- Jonathan Larson's untimely death the night his play opened on Broadway- he was 36 years old. It is ironic and horrendously fitting that the author of a play which relates to a disease that consumes so many young people- that his life also ended so awfully early. The credo of the play "No Day But Today" hits a little harder when seen from that perspective. For more on the show http://www.siteforrent.com

So- it was me, an office mate, her friend and VLH in the 12th row of the orchestra, stage left. The set was distressed and multi-leveled with blue-gray acoustic tiles soaring to the rafters serving as a backdrop for a twisted pile of metal and garbage that I know is an echo of a similar structure in a community garden on the lower East Side of Manhattan.

And the play began. The cast are for the most part relative newcomers to Broadway, having cut their not inconsiderable teeth touring with Rent as well as other shows. I think that Declan Rogers who played Roger had a cold- either that or a mouth-ful of marbles as he spent a great deal of the 75 minute 1st act mumbling his lyrics. I fully enjoyed the performances by Tamyra Gray- a former American Idol contestant and astonishing acrobat- her rendition of "Take Me Out" performed while looping her lithe frame through a metal banister 3 stories above the stage in high-heeled boots and skin tight electric blue latex pants literally took my breath away. And oh how I loved watching Justin Johnson as Angel leaping his way through "Today For You" in patent leather platform heels- you go...girl, kinda. Loved it.

I watched the show and tried to imagine what this all looked like in 1996 when it opened- when men kissing men and women kissing women and cross dressers kissing everyone would have been ground breaking. When tattered clothing onstage meant you were watching Les Mis or some other period piece that had nothing to do with the present time. When walking out to your car meant you might actually encounter a homeless guy with a squeegee.

And when AIDS was actually something new. A raging epidemic that outlaw groups like Act-Up were fighting and there was a question as to whether their guerilla tactics were effective or alienating. When the fight against AIDS was a street fight and newspaper headlines in less urban areas talked about the plague that was "killing all the right people."

Rent as a play felt a bit dated, with so much of the shock value gone from all the kissing and the street folk relegated to dark corners these days. But, as Angel was dying... as it happens every time I see it- I cried and cried, more than a bit aware that this might alarm VLH- who does not know me well enough to know how I feel about AIDS- not enough of my personal history to know that I held the man who made my wedding dress and walked me down the aisle as he lay dying in St. Vincent's of this disease. I looked around the theater and wondered, to all the young, healthy, mostly out-of-towners- was this a STORY? Because I know for me- at that moment it was NOT a story. It was a reminder. It has been awhile since I looked at the statistics- so I did and was sickened (statistics from http://www.until.org/statistics.shtml:

United States:

An estimated one million people are currently living with HIV in the United States, with approximately 40,000 new infections occurring each year.

75 percent of the new infections in women are heterosexually transmitted.

Half of all new infections in the United States occur in people 25 years of age or younger.

And in the larger world the story is worse

Over 22 million people have died from AIDS.

There are 14,000 new infections every day (95 percent in developing countries). HIV/AIDS is a "disease of young people" with half of the 5 million new infections each year occurring among people ages 15 to 24.

The UN estimates that, currently, there are 14 million AIDS orphans and that by 2010 there will be 25 million.

And if the larger world has an orphan issue with regards to AIDS, about 2 years ago I started volunteering to cook at God's Love We Deliver- www.glwd.org an organization which provides meals to homebound people with AIDS. They deliver over 3,000 meals a day in the NY Metro area. That in and of itself was a sad statistic to learn but what struck me was that 15% of those meals are for dependent children. 450 children who could lose their parents- it is amazing to me that the 14 million number does not affect me as those 450 do. Not because they are here- but because I cannot conceive of 14 million children left alone. The grief is unfathomable. For the 450- I can help, a little. So I chop onions.We each do what we can.

I guess what I want to say. Dated or no- marbles in the mouth or not. I want Rent to continue to run. If an audience member can care about the death of Angel, maybe they would be compelled to look a little further- be a bit more careful in how they conduct their sex life- maybe even send a dollar or chop an onion. But it is most important that people realize- it's not over. Our friends are still gone. And very young people will continue to die in staggering numbers. So it all helps. What was heartening was at the end of the show the audience rose to its feet and gave a standing ovation. I hope at least a few will be moved to do more.

Chasing the Eto

New Year's day brings with it many fine traditions like the consuming of black eyed
peas for luck. I think the tradition actually showed luck in and of itself as HAVING peas, a hock to cook them with and a pot in which to accomplish this were signs in and of themselves that you were pretty darned lucky to begin
with.

Nursing a sick head from too much wine or a sick stomach from too much food are also fine American traditions- as if somehow we need to punish ourselves for being well off. I decided this new year to A.) Be sensible and sensitive to the
needs of others and B.) Be more than a little cranky about it and C.) Be OK with that.

Fred had recently introduced me to a new concept. We were speaking about an aquaintance of his who recently did some THING (I forget what) for herself and stated she was NOT being selfish, she was ENTITLED. It became the theme for
my evening let someone else feed me and do for me and if I won at Candyland (which I did, beginners luck actually having never played before-) I was teaching the little guy good sportsmanship AND I was entitled. The crankiness? Well
after having absolutely no fun sharing my own crabby company I decided I was ENTITLED to a better time and took my grumpy butt to bed at 11:30. I was awoken at 12:08 and about every 4 minutes thereafter by well wishing friends who
were astonished I was asleep. I explained I was not asleep I was just answering the phone lying down with my eyes closed in pajamas and leaping to conclusions was no way for them to start a new year.

Bed was important as I had a plan for new years day. I was going to catch a mouse. Specifically an Eto. 2008 is the year of the Eto- the Japanese Good fortune Rat.

I met 'Neff at the Mitsuwa market a Japanese mall in Edgewater, NJ. I arrived at 9:00 that rainy morning and was met with a line of about a hundred slightly damp Asians awaiting the opening of the market. According to Keiko it is customary for Japanese folks to go out and celebrate on New Year's morning. Mitsuwa offered Taiko Drumming, Ceremonial Dragon Slaying, soft serve black sesame ice cream and the big draw the 1st 500 families would receive a free porcelain rat meant to bring luck in the coming year- the Eto.

I got mine, Neff got hers and we wandered Mitsuwa looking at...the everything. There was so much to see. Amazingly marbled Wagyu beef, a vast array of pickles, sake, ramen and gyoza all beautifully displayed. Even a lowly cello pack of okra was elevated to 'okura' giving it not only a certain Asian exotic-ness but an additional syllable as well.


New Year Cake


If I had 2 Etos- I'd give one to you...


Taiko Drummers




Mizuna


A whole LOT of sake


I am assuming this is a cocktail snack....

VLH joined us just in time for brunch. Mitsuwa offers a stunning array of Japanese and Chinese style foods as well as taking a stab at French and Italian inspired cuisine; offering croissants (stuffed with red bean paste) and soba noodles with baby clams served as ' linguine con vongole'. I was very pleased when the counter lady at the St. Honore bakery greeted me in English to be able to respond with my only complete and absolutely correct Japanese phrase " Shinnen akemashite
omedeto gozaymasu" Which I have believed for the past 25 years meant 'Happy New Year' in Japanese. Keiko, ever aware of my desire to learn and be appropriate in Japanese informs me that this phrase actually means "Happiness to you on the
dawn of the New Year's Day" basically I had until noon that day to say my one phrase and then it was another 364 days of waiting.

25 years ago I learned the phrase to impress a Japanese man named Alan that I had a crush on. I repeated it over and
over to myself for weeks and learned the night I actually SAID my hard-won greeting to him that A.) Alan was gay. And B.) Knew not one single word of Japanese. Looking back I cannot say which discovery upset me more but I know the
counter lady and the fifteen or so strangers I greeted this new year's morning at Mitsuwa appreciated my work all those years ago.



As I mentioned-VLH joined 'Neff and I for a gorgeous brunch in Mitsuwa's food court. H had been a bit late to the party and was so stunned by the museum-quality display of plastic food at Mitsuwa that he was launched into a sort of food fugue and rendered completely incapable of choosing a stall from which to purchase breakfast. It was a giddy state brought on by an excess of ...noodles and potstickers. All he kept muttering was... "I dunno- you pick and then I'll choose- I dunno, I dunno..." I was worried that drool was imminent or some form of spasm.

As I had arrived 2 hours earlier I had calmed down sufficiently to narrow the field. Eggs. Scrambled. Sounds like everyday fare in the U.S. of A. until you find that these particular eggs are scrambled with crab and served over rice with pork and scallions. Yum. H chose a plateful of plump pork-filled gyoza, pan fried and 'Neff a bowl of soba noodles with pork accompanied by rice covered in salmon roe and a somewhat ancient-looking hardboiled egg in what appeared to be soy sauce. The question for me was how in the world did the denizens of Mitsuwa market maintain such diminutive and trim stature? The portions were ENORMOUS!

As with many New Year's past, the post brunch activity was VERY serious napping. 'Neff went on to home and parents and VLH and I to our patriotic duty of sleeping off the effects of a Japanese super-sized brunch. A very pleasant way, in many ways, to spend a New Year's Day. Easy as snapping a garter. I did not miss the hangover or the black-eyed peas- not even a little.

I spent THIS weekend thinking about my good fortune- this the first weekend in recent memory that I spent on my own and I set myself (again crankily as I would rather have had company but did not provide any for myself- self imposed grouchiness-even worse) to straightening cabinets and closets and clearing things out for the new year. I found that I had at least two of everything, and sometimes more. As the afternoon wore on I also found the crankiness moving away and being replaced with a sense of awe. Maybe for the first time in my life, I have much more than I need. Especially of luck and prosperity. And it did not come by chance- just like my Eto- I went out and got it and more and more- like the Eto- good fortune and happiness comes to my door- free of charge, even if I'm too cranky at that moment to appreciate it. So next time I'm feeling a bit like this I can just reach over- grab my Eto- and remember to be grateful.

Shinen Akemashite Omedeto Gozymasu!

The Bind That Ties

December has- without really looking, probably been the skimpiest, entry-wise, of all the months this year since I began blogging last March. It has been pointed out that there have been 50 entry months and 8 entry months, a sure sign of ebb and flow which is common in everyone's lives. I DID notice and even came close to mentioning it- saying something like..
"Sorry, your readership is important to us and we will get back to you as soon as life hocks up something amusing, visually stimulating- oh, and something that by writing it, won't invade someone else's private moments by writing about it in a public forum. Please stand by, or have a seat- it may be awhile and it looks like those shoes might hurt." oh "Beeep."

The interesting thing is that the 32 entry month/8 entry month statistic was revealed to me and taken for granted, as well as the references to early, early blog entries. Discounted as just someone trying to catch up with me- and my life. Bit of hubris actually- as this particular individual has a life which barely allows for a change of socks and a laundry drop off. And the collaborator also has a life pretty chock full of child, school and dealing with a new life and the challenges it brings. But I have always heard that if you want to get something done- give it to a busy person. If its a biggie- give it to two busy persons and watch them multi task by not only getting it done but by becoming really good friends in the process.

You little co-conspirators, you.

So it was my favorite little guy's fifth birthday and paired with Christmas there was a pretty big haul on the table for him as well as a natal-fest feast that would make Rachael Ray wince (this didn't take 20 minutes, babe- deal with it- go down a shot of EVO wouldja?) I volunteered ( and dragged an ever-willing VLH and his brand new food processor along for the ride) to make hummus and grill vegetables. The work was pretty minor for a former chef and his amateur assistant to knock off with a mere 2 jugs of very strong coffee. We finished the required cooking activities and VLH took the lead, heading over to Z's apartment chatting merrily on his cel phone to one person or another. I scaled the stairs to the apartment- Z lives in a 4th floor walk-up- some days- like at the end of a month of sheer culinary indulgence and zero trips to the gym- scaling the stairs to Z's house feels like scaling Annapurna- in heels.

We arrived and stood panting in the hallway and Z opened the door simultaneously greeting us, complaining about the cat, pointing out that the garbage needed taking out AND did we want anything to eat. I ran into the kitchen- which looked like the Falklands after the invasion- small and ...well it wasn't covered in goats but with all the dishes pans and other party prep remains- goats might have been an improvement. I grabbed 2 sausage out of a waiting pan and stuck one in my mouth and held the other in my hand as I walked back to the living room to offer assistance to Z and a sausage to VLH. Z stood in the middle of the maelstrom holding what looked like a pair of dictionaries clutched to her chest. VLH turned down my sausage offer, which should have tipped me off- and directed me to Z, who insisted I wipe my hands clean. I thought about wiping them on the back of my jeans, but at this juncture drawing attention to that area of my body- NOT my best side at the end of the holiday season, was just not prudent. I scarfed the 2nd sausage (waste-not, waist, also not.) and found a napkin and did a serviceable job of cleaning my greasy paws.

I held my hands out and Z placed the two 500 page tomes in my upturned hands- one book red, the other deep green. The green one had gold letters embossed into the cover. In Times New Roman it read: "The Ephemerist's Notebook" and on the second line optically centered "Volume One". The red book read, in Times New Roman golden letters "The Ephemerist's Notebook, Volume 2"

I'm crying as I write this. and I did then as well. I could not speak. I could not breathe. I know Z spoke to me. I know VLH did as well. I cannot tell you what they said. I have been struck speechless before as you know. Strangers saying with their actions that they care for me, that will take away my ability to come up with some glib comment. This took away my breath and I was not quite sure I could take anything more in- not even air. The letters glinted at me from the pristine hard covers. This...book. THESE books. I could not wrap my head around the idea that I had done this, that THESE were me... and mine. And then I looked at the faces of those two- one who has stood by me for almost twenty years and literally kept me alive through some of its darkest moments, been more than a friend and better than any sister could be to me and then to the face so new and so incredibly dear to me, my precious, precious and brave yov. The yov that has always been one step braver in loving me.

It wasn't just that they were bound- though seeing my writing as books- as opposed to some glorified Myspace page or Facebook ego trip (hot or not- you decide!) And more that hearing that they both felt this work was worth the tremendous effort to get this done. It was an incredible visual. This amazing year in two volumes. Special. Three-dimensional. And mine.

Eventually I stopped crying and was able to whisper my thanks. The books had to be put away as they brought on a new spate of tears every time I saw them and my red tear-stained visage was frightening the little party-goers and putting them off the remaining sausages.

I asked VLH to put the books in his car as we were going to see Fred for dinner in a glorious restaurant in New Canaan called Aloi and I wanted him to see this amazing gift. It was my one-year anniversary of knowing Fred and I wanted to celebrate the changes he had brought into my life and introduce him to the newest one. At dinner, which was incredible, we talked about the nature of loving, and Fred said something- he said that a particular person we were discussing "just wanted to be appreciated for the love they were giving".

At the time the phrase had a different context and it was not until just now that I realized that was what the real gift of the books was. Recognition of the love I had been giving, returned to me- in red, green and gold.

Oh my.

To any one who reads this- from Brooklyn to Helsinki. Happy New Year.

:) X

Cheezborger, Cheezborger, Cheezborger, no fries (ice) chips

Chicago twice in one year. This absolutely constitutes a record for me as my goddaughter Nikki, the world's most glorious adolescent pointed out, the last time I saw her that often we were waiting for her to be potty trained. After a weekend spent with Syd and the fam in Hinsdale (for those of you who wondered- the latch on the patio door is still unrepaired- at this point I think Henry would use a piece of chewing gum to fix it and Syd is considering total house razing to rectify the problem and a compromise does not appear to be likely or imminent)

Flying into Chicago on Saturday morning fell asleep (yahoo- the ephemerist becomes a seasoned traveler!) I woke to the man in the seat next to me smiling at me- a bit disconcerting as I am pretty certain I was drooling a teensy bit. Seems he had been flying for the past 15 hours and was actually looking over my shoulder as we taxied into Chicago- "Is that snow?" He said. I turned- blinking and trying surreptitiously to wipe my eyes. Snow. Lots of it. I YELLED at Syd "you didn't TELL me". I texted VLH- there is SNOW here- he texted back- "Strange turn in the weather- currently 85 degrees in NJ- taking the kids to the beach." I knew- unless he was suddenly raising polar bear cubs that was just a MAJOR dig that said- it's winter all over, babe- deal with it. Personally I feel dealing directly with reality is highly overrated and occasionally ..well, often a buzz-kill.

Fortunately I learned very quickly that like New York, Chicago is a walking city. What I mean by that is you do not need to get into a car to reach civilization- in this case- I walked out the door and saw...TONS of civilization- lots of cool and groovy architecture, public transportation and stores- even a GARMIN store- right there on Michigan Avenue. I guess to allow you to BUY a Garmin they needed to find a retail location you could get to WITHOUT one. Blind people could see this place the windows were 2 stories high and the travertine marble exterior had a big GARMIN logo on it. All they needed was a voice outside the store repeating over and over- "You have reached your destination". The store was trying very hard to be an Apple Store- lots of hip looking sales people of multiple ethnicities and none over say...27.5 years of age (just old enough to resist calling EVERYONE- male and female- "Dude"). And they TRIED to help me but..in a way it was just like the Scotch tape store on the old Saturday night live which only sold- Scotch Tape. They seemed to only feature 1 model of Garmin at only ONE lofty price point $699. It seemed ironic that the display, and the merchandise and the super cool store staff- just made me wanna say- "Get Lost".



Chez Garmin



Sayat Nova Armenian Restaurant




The Navy Pier in Winter and Lake Michigan

But. Garmin also sponsored the MAPS exhibit at The Field Museum. As much as I love the Natural History Museum here in NYC- you had to love the Field- home to "Sue" the world's only/most complete tyrannosaurus rex skeleton. I did not realize- until making Sue's acquaintance, that most/all OTHER tyrannosaurus rex skeletons were cobbled together or made with artificial parts- I can just imagine the exchange- "I'll trade you 6 tyrannosaurus vertebrae for a stegosaurus hip joint and 3 triceratops toes..." Add in 4 calling birds and 3 french hen skeletons and it's a merry holiday all around. The best part for me- Sue- the display and maintenance of- is sponsored by McDonald's. There is a joke in there SOMEWHERE I just can't find it.

However- there was another joke I found- ALMOST as old as Sue, hamburger related AND as free of tyrannosaurus rex meat as Sue's old bones. The Billy Goat Tavern. What? You may ask- I didn't know either. The Billy Goat Tavern was immortalized on Saturday Night Live. The real Saturday Night Live in the days of Belushi, Ackroyd, Morris, Newman, Curtin and the glorious Gilda Radner. The Skit?

Cheezborger, Cheezborger, no fries- chips- no coke Pepsi.

The Billy Goat is located UNDER the glitzy Michigan Avenue shopping strip and across from the cool and groovy Chicago Tribune building- notable for the bits and pieces embedded in it from other cool and groovy buildings.



A piece of the Trib



Under Michigan Avenue

I was dressed in road exec gear- suit- coat with fur collar- heels- the Billy Goat at the height of its dress code- requests you wear nothing with permanent stains on it. So the greeting I received when I walked in the door was- in a SPITTING imitation of Belushi - "You wanna EAT here?" Yes, actually yes, I do. I love dives- greeeezee spoons- not dirty- or smelly but- unpretentious and filled with stuff- oh and at the smell of meat on a griddle- my whole being yells YIPPEE lets PARTY! Barely disguising his surprise the counterman swiftly went into his patter-

"You want cheezborger? Double cheezborger the best!" OK I'll have that
"You want chips, no fries" Yes Please.
"Corn Chips, Regular Chips?" Regular.
"Pepsi, Diet Pepsi, Sprite, Ginger Ale" Diet Pepsi (OK,OK I KNOW double cheezborger... we save where we can...)

And it came to me on a slip of waxed paper- just as you see here (I added pickles and pickle relish and lots of ketchup, the only red wine that truly complements hamburger grease)



And- as greasy-divey experiences go- it was MIGHTY fine. Oh and I managed to keep it off my white shirt... BONUS!



And finally- a reminder on the cold Navy pier- how far I was, exactly, from yov.
It made getting home and what it would take... a little bit clearer.

And I'm home :)

:P X

The Leader of the Band

And here is the key
To a house far away
Where I used to live
As a child.
They tore down the building
When I moved away
And left the key unreconciled.

Souvenirs- Dan Fogelberg

Christmas. I have always felt that Santa's bag was a mixed one. Lots of presents to get- upside. Downside: finding presents to give- and heaven help me, the right one (the internal pressure on this one for me is the same strength used to turn coal into diamonds) Tons of great foods (the office today offered a cornucopia heavy on chocolate covered salty things -breakfast this morning was dark chocolate covered popcorn- I had em with a glass of milk) but alas little time in the holiday hubbub to get to the gym. And visiting my friends- spending time, precious time with Nikki who will be older and a lot less a little girl the next time I see her- but the upside- she grows like the most amazing flower and there is joy in that. And saying good-bye to those far-flung friends- feeling the tear as I drive away into a gray midwestern morning- the upside- I'm driving- it still rocks. And there is so much, so much, to come home to. You know who you are.

And then a note, an e-mail, Dan Fogelberg died at 56. It seems so... young. 56 years old- shouldn't there be some sort of divine dispensation for talent? For those people whose gift- in this case whose music, is so intricately entwined in memories our lives? But there isn't. What is beautiful and oh so fine is too often fleeting.

And so it goes- I listen to the songs. I remember those times and I am grateful. For the music that brings those times so close that I taste the wine of those moments on my lips, sweeter for the aging and the bitterness of such a young vintage now mellowed and fine. I choose to be sad for this moment because when beauty passes it is fitting to grieve and I rejoice for the moments that this sad, sad death brought back for a visit.

And here is a sunrise
To set on your sill.
The ghosts of the dawn
Moving near.
They pass through your sorrow
And leave you quite still...
Sitting among souvenirs.

Office Christmas Party Etiquette

I have read the articles posted online about the do's and don'ts for the office Christmas party. Traditional wisdom summed up it says- DO go (because you HAVE to) but for the Love of your JOB do not have fun (if they catch you being yourself- your career is toast). All these ridiculously sensible rules make my heart yearn for a slightly less- sensible, wildly politically incorrect time. So- for your reading pleasure and mine, a memo (written in 1957 and edited somewhat by me for length and well- it's 2007- we actually HAVE come a long way, girl-wise) by Alan Sherman (yes, the guy who wrote the Camp Granada Song- Hello Muddah- Hello Fadduh) on conduct at the office Christmas Party:

Memo to: All Office Personnel
From: Alan Sherman
Subject: The 1957 Office Xmas Party

The office party as most of you know is set for next Tuesday, December 24th, at 12 noon.

Girls who have been present at previous Office Parties have been, I realize, looking forward to seeing me at this party next Tuesday.

Due to the unprecedented demand for my services this year, and the limitations imposed on me by nature and time-- I must set forth the following rules and regulations for conduct at the Office Party:

1. ALL OF THE GIRLS WISHING TO PECK ME POLITELY ON THE CHEEK, or pinch my cheek and say "isn't he a doll?" will kindly line up at the 29th floor water cooler. If time allows, I will appear there late in the party to accomodate one and all.

2. GIRLS WITH NO PREVIOUS SEXUAL EXPERIENCE, OR GIRLS SUFFERING from emotional trauma, will please report MONDAY night at 7:30 to my assistant, Mr. Chester Feldman, who will give you pre-party instructions, a chalk-talk, and a specially prepared pamphlet from the National Safety Council.

3. DOROTHY KRESSLER WILL REPORT DIRECTLY TO ME IMMEDIATELY UPON RECEIPT OF THIS MEMO What I have in mind is the same thing as last year but this year I'd like to get started a little earlier.

4. ALL GIRLS WILL TAKE WHATEVER SPECIAL PRECAUTIONS ARE INDICATED. DON'T DEPEND ON ME FOR PRECAUTIONS- YOU KNOW WHAT A MAD, IMPETUOUS FOOL I AM.

5. I HAVE NO DESIRE TO REPEAT MY UNFORTUNATE EXPERIENCE OF LAST YEAR'S CHRISTMAS PARTY. Most of you will remember my regrettable case of trench mouth which lasted well into February of this year. I'm not going to name any names- you know who you are.

6. DUE TO THE UNPRECEDENTED DEMAND priority will be given this Christmas to those who have done their part during the course of the regular year.

7. GIRLS--REMEMBER THE GOLDEN RULE. Be fair to the other girls. Do unto me only what you would let me do unto you. Take only what you need. Waste not, want not. Remember a man isn't made of wood, but he isn't made of iron either.

8. GIRLS WHO BRING UP THE SUBJECT OF OFFICE POLITICS at critical moments in the proceedings will be regarded as blase and tabled indefinitely.

9. TO THE NEW GIRLS WHO HAVE JOINED THE ORGANIZATION SINCE THE LAST CHRISTMAS PARTY. I must beg you to control yourself as much as you can. For heaven's sake maintain your dignity if it is at all possible. And in years to come, when you tell your friends about it--and I know you will--please be kind.

Thank you Alan...

I have my own set of Holiday Party rules.

I always say "Happy Hanukah" to everyone. I am Jewish- this is known as "representing".

I never pinch anyone's tushy. Not on purpose. And if someone pinches mine- I always say "thank you"

I eat dinner before I go. It's not the drinking I worry about- it's spilling hors d'oeuvres down the front of whatever I am wearing.

I don't drink alcohol- I can fall down without it- why bother with the calories?

I hug. A lot. It's a good time for it. And you can't BUY presents for everyone.

These are just MY rules As for you- please follow common sense- xeroxing your tushy as your holiday card or getting extremely busy in the stock room (that act is NOT also known as collating) is probably not a stellar career move.

Enjoy the party!

:)X

Ways to have fun at the holidays

Ralph Guild...embellished

I am loving this holiday season. Loving the travelling and the coming home- it's all good. HOWEVER. Not so many folks share this point of view and seem to need to INFLICT their crankiness on those of us content to fa-la-la our way through the season. Strangely enough both my examples happened THIS week, on the subway.

Yesterday a man who spent a great deal of money buying some high-maintenance female a Chanel purse for the holiday took an inordinate amount of glee pokng me in the back with the huge honking shopping bag (with razor enhanced corners by the feel of it) on the subway.

Tuesday, when I was VERY late for dinner at the fabulous Leo's Grandevous whith a lovely bunch of folks (I hate being late) the trains were delayed and each "E" train was more crowded than the last, not allowing so much as a shopping bag, much less the shopping bag OWNER onto the train. Finally I WEDGED myself into a space that would have made a supermodel "suck-it-in" and two MORE people squished in behind me. I have been less intimate with LOVERS than I was at that moment to the people around me on the train. Just to the east of my right ear a woman started shrieking. "OH NO- there is NO more room in here- don't even THINK about getting on..." OOps- our bad- we did not know this was HER train.

So. I figure there are a couple of ways when- not desperately depressed, but slightly tweaked, you can cheer yourself up.

I will add them as I come up with them (I get tweaked pretty often)

Thing 1. Dress up busts in museums. Let's face it- busts are a way of a person saying- I am IMPORTANT- but only from the neck up. It is the sculpture equivalent of a dickie (a fake shirt front that goes under a sweater or jacket thus freeing the wearer from putting on extra clothes...it's a goofy form of clothing) Anyway- they are just ASKING to be dressed up as, unlike whole statues... you can usually reach their heads. The statue of Ralph Guild (shown fully dressed above) was at the Museum of Radio and Broadcasting and ... I had help. I find it advisable when committing a crime, to have a partner. It helps if the partner is a little kid- they are harder to arrest, and they giggle.

And speaking of giggling-

Thing 2. Go to the nearest large toy store and find the Tickle Me Elmos. Begin at one end of the display and start tickling. See if you can get all the Elmos going at once. Before they throw you out of the store.

In a more traditional realm:

Thing 3. Kiss Sidewalk Santas. They are cold. They are bored. This wakes them up. Avoid the ones with yellow beards- smoking Santas do not taste so good.

:)X

Oy, Again with the lists....

Finding a kosher chicken at the holidays- not so hard in NYC


Last night was the 1st night of Hanukah. Aside from phone calls to the near and dear and a pork product/cream sauce dinner at a "red sauce joint" in Hoboken, the first night did not have that holiday feeling. I didn't light any candles. The candle lighting prayer was said, albeit over a plate of (oy a shanda) shellfish fra diavolo. I have deferred my gift giving until Christmas eve- offering the excuse of flying to and fro as the (weak, so weak) reason why I haven't gotten to the gift shopping. Truth be told I seem to have found PLENTY of time to shop for me.

But I am not avoiding the holiday. I want to stretch it out. I want... well- I thought I would offer a wish list for Hanukah:

I want more time- with friends, and people I love, and with my pillow on cold winter mornings

I want a reason to get out of bed- and a reason to stay five more minutes (you know who you are)

I want to laugh so hard my ribs hurt

And to shed a couple of tears to remember there are two sides to every coin- but we make a choice each time we flip it as to how we deal with the result

I want to be better- at ALL of it- and yet be satisfied at the end of each day that I brought the best I had in myself to that day

I want my favorite foods to be calorie free. Understand here (as we learned from the panty fairy, wishes must be specific) I do NOT want to learn to love iceberg lettuce and celery- I want pizza to never, ever stick to my hips- even with extra cheese.

Also in the food vein- I would like people to give fruitcake a second chance- it's yummy- and just plain misunderstood.

I'd like to spend an hour with the folks that....aren't with me, here, anymore. It would be great just to have enough time to tell each of them I love them one more time.

Not so much to ask- and any one of them would be a terrific gift all on its own (except maybe the fruitcake- if fruitcake catches on there will be less of it for me... not such a good thing)So- until I open the first branch of the Fruitcake anti-defamation league(and weight loss emporium) I will just wish you dreidels, lots of gelt, latkes (sour cream or applesauce- you choose) and jelly doughnuts, non-drippy candles and 8 great wishes to end the year.

:) X

The Mess With Texas

The Fried Macaroni and Cheese Nugget from Sonic

Pure evil. 280 calories 140 of them pure unadulterated FAT. Fortunately only available from Sonic for, as Sherell the fast talking Sonic counter girl assured me- for the season. I was wondering... WHICH season? The Cholesterol Season? Say... September until death by arterial clogging? Or the holiday season- which needs no help after stuffing, pies and Christmas cookies, potato latkes and chanukah gelt to pack on an additional 10 lbs from November to January which will cling to your hips like a horn dog ex-boyfriend until the promise of summer forces you to brutally shake them (the pounds, not the boyfriend) by dining on water and celery until thinner or fed up. Oh. And the worst news- they're really tasty.



Wedding Flags in La Marqueta San Antonio



A stylish lady of San Antonio... thos one OBVIOUSLY gave the mac and cheese nuggets a miss...



The Guadalajara Grill in La Villeta, the original settlement of San Antonio. A note to the ... well to myself. When you have a post awful cold stomach do not, UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES, order the smoked tuna enchiladas with chipotle sauce. Even on a good day.. well, Montezuma's reach, in the name of revenge, is extensive and truly potent.



The Alamo. Located MOST unfortunately next to a BIG mall and across from a Ripley's Believe it or Not







A friend suggested not only that I tell their child about jackelopes but that I ran this particular one over with my rental car.

And then there was the mess...

There was a horrendous line at security in the airport going from San Antonio to Dallas. One frustrated woman, an hour into the wait announced to everyone in the line- "I have NO idea why this is taking so long. All they have to do is search the Muslims." I could not help myself. I said out loud "Oh my God". A man next to me said "Yeah". Except he wasn't saying it to me- he was saying it to the woman who made the initial comment.

The next two days the comment stayed with me and then outside the Alamo I saw the most adorable Mexican child. Her abuela was sitting having a cold drink in the shade and the baby wandered back and forth waving a tissue like an unofficial greeter of Alamo visitors. I thought about Davy Crockett. And General Santa Anna. Lots of strife. Certainly not a great deal of love for Mexicans back then in San Antonio. And yet here we were. And here was this tiny muchacha waving hello. Things pass. Ultimately despite whatever the day's strife- approach with love, openness and innocence. This and time and the rest all passes. Especially with love.



You know who you are. :) X